


Of Hearth and Home

by Marta



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: Birthday Presents, Childhood, Cross-cultural, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2011-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 03:39:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marta/pseuds/Marta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little kindness can go a long way. A moment from the Prancing Pony in the years before the War of the Ring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Hearth and Home

Aragorn leaned back in his chair, resting his head against the wall. "Whoever said April was the cruelest month has obviously never patrolled around Staddle in a freezing November rain," he said, groaning.

"True enough," Halbarad said. "Too true, in fact. Are your feet as sore as mine?"

"You're worse off than me," Aragorn said, "with your blister and all, though my socks are soaked straight through. I should set them to dry by the fire, but just now, bending over seems beyond me."

They sat in silence for a moment, neither of them moving. At last Halbarad asked, "Shall I help you with those socks? Or are you waiting for fairies to whisk them away?"

"Were I the king you keep insisting I am, I would hardly have to ask," Aragorn said.

"As the royal squire has absconded with the scullery-maid," Halbarad said in mock-courtesy, "it seems this task falls to me." Once Halbarad had eased off the boots and the socks underneath, Aragorn wiggled his toes at his newfound freedom and sighed contentedly. "Bless you, Halbarad," he said. "That does me more good than I can say."

Halbarad set Aragorn's socks on the drying-rack by the fire. "Just so long as you repay the favor one of these days," he said. A knock came at the door, and Aragorn called out in what he had hoped was permission to enter but that came out instead as more grunt than actual words. The door creaked open to reveal the hobbit servant Nob standing just outside.

"Begging your pardons, sirs, but may I come in?" Aragorn nodded him in and both he and Halbarad looked at him expectantly.

"Good evening to you, Master Strider," he said, tipping his hat, "and you, too, Master Hal." Aragorn nodded at him, noting as he always did that this hobbit always customarily offered him the title of master and never named him _Longshanks_ , as so many of the men and hobbits in the Pony's common room did. That small sign of respect always warmed his heart and he would thank him for it if he didn't think the notice would set Nob ill at ease.

Just this moment, though, Aragorn was more intrigued by Nob's strange behavior: the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot and held his hands behind his back. Quite unlike him. "Is aught amiss?" he asked.

Nob shook his head. "No. It's just that I have something for you."

"From Master Butterbur?" Halbarad asked.

Nob blushed. "No, sir. I'm here on my own account." He produced his hand from behind his back, holding out a parcel. "I'd never put myself forward for my own sake, you must know that. To bother a guest with my own business, or to put myself forward as your friend when by rights I should be serving you. But it's Peony, my daughter. Today's her birthday you see."

In point of fact they did not see, but Halbarad smiled warmly and Aragorn offered his _happy returns_ cheerfully enough. "She has turned three today," Nob pushed on, "and – how well do you know hobbit customs?"

"I know a fair bit," Aragorn said. "My cousin here has never met one outside the Pony, but I once knew a Shire-hobbit who passed through Rivendell, and he seemed eager enough to talk about his own land. So Peony gave out her first gifts today?"

"A hobbit in Rivendell!" Nob exclaimed. "I'd wager there's a tale and a half there, sir. I'd not mind hearing – but another day, perhaps. Yes, we did her gifting this morning, and that's what brings me here, see. I'd told Peony – all my little ones, really – about you. Shared your stories and spoken of the teller as well. Peony somehow got it in her head that you must be lonely, striding about the wilderness all on your own like you Rangers do, and she made me promise to give you this."

Aragorn took the proffered parcel and unwrapped it. When the cloth fell away he saw a piece of ash-bark, straightened out with some care, with a charcoal-sketch of a hobbit-family beside their home. It was no great work of art (the older sister seemed as tall as a pine-tree), but Aragorn could see that great care had gone into the making, and the effort touched him deeply.

"The thought occurred to me that you might not have room in your pack," Nob said, "and I'll find a place for it here or toss it out if you like. But she wanted you to have it, and I thought the gifting might bring a smile to your face in any case."

Aragorn did smile at that, a bolder smile than he had given anyone other than nearest kin in many long years, for he recognized the courage it must take for a hobbit like Nob to approach him. "I _do_ have a home," Aragorn said, "and I would like nothing better than to have Peony's drawing on my mantel. The trick is how to get it there. Do you think Master Butterbur could set it aside until Gandalf next passes through here? He travels to my home at times, and he has saddle-bags while I carry my world on my back."

Nob nodded. "Aye, I can see to that." Then, as if reluctant to make the visit wholly about his own business, he added, "Mary's warming you some supper in the kitchen, so I'll be round again soon enough." Nodding to Aragorn and Halbarad he shuffled backward out of the room.

"Twitchy little chap," Halbarad said as he sat down again beside Aragorn. "Do you really expect Gandalf to carry a child's drawing all that way? Bark is like as not to break in his satchel."

Aragorn looked fondly down at the drawing in his hands. Halbarad was right, but at the moment he was feeling thoroughly impractical. "I am owed an indulgence or two," he said. "To know that there is someone – a stranger at that – who thinks it a shame that we are forever alone in the wilds. Would you toss that kindness aside lightly?"

Halbarad looked him over, and Aragorn guessed from past conversations that Halbarad was thinking of his own daughter. In truth, Aragorn was amazed at the change that had taken hold of him, from weariness to levity in so short a space. He had only ever seen such a transformation in other rangers when they talked of their own children. For Aragorn, "home" was a far less simple place than Halbarad's own hearthside; he had no children to cling to his legs, and if Arwen would welcome him home warmly enough, even their embrace was tainted by the knowledge of what that love must ultimately cost.

Beside him Halbarad clapped his leg and nodded knowingly. "No," he said, "I would not toss it aside. Were the gift mine, I would carry it all the way home. By hand if need be."

**Author's Note:**

> On the hobbit custom of gift-giving:
> 
> " _Giving gifts_ : was a personal matter, not limited to kinship. It was a form of 'thanksgiving', and taken as a recognition of services, benefits, and friendship shown, especially in the past year.
> 
> "It may be noted that Hobbits, as soon as they became 'faunts' (that is talkers and walkers: formally taken to be on their third birthday-anniversary) _gave presents_ to their parents. These were supposed to be things 'produced' by the giver (that is found, grown, or made by the 'byrding'), beginning in small children with bunches of wild flowers." (Letter #214)


End file.
